


VII. Defining The Past

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-23
Updated: 2006-06-23
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8704777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam makes Dean understand he wasn't to blame when they were kids. Seventh in the Defining Series.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

_**VII. Defining Series DEFINING THE PAST (Supernatural D/S)**_  
 **Title:** Defining The Past - VII. Defining Series  
 **Author:** Shorts  
 **Pairings/Character:** Dean/Sam  
 **Rating:** NC17  
 **Category:** Slash  
 **Word Count:** 1409  
 **Spoilers:** "Something Wicked"  
 **Note** The links to the other parts of the series can be reached via my info page.  
  
  
  
DEFINING THE PAST  
By Shorts  
  
Music blared into the night as Dean sped down the highway. This particular tactic was a favorite of his, it kept Sam from asking questions that he really didn't want to deal with right now.  
  
At the moment, Sam didn't mind the pounding beat drowning out the sound of the car engine. He had a lot to digest as they left Fitchberg behind. Learning that Dean had blamed himself all these years for what in hindsight wasn't his fault, opened his eyes. It also made him wonder what else he was ignorant about concerning the past. He was slowly discovering that there were reasons behind Dean's actions and behavior, not that Dean had ever been big on explaining them. He settled back into the seat, folded his arms and closed his eyes, biding his time.  
  
Another twenty miles gone and Dean darted a glance at Sam, then reached out and turned the music down.  
  
"It wasn't your fault," said Sam, his eyes still closed.  
  
"Thought you were sleeping," said Dean.  
  
"Just thinking," said Sam. Keeping perfectly still, he waited to see if Dean would turn the music back up. When he hadn't, he repeated himself. "It wasn't your fault."  
  
"Considering you don't even remember what happened, you don't know that," said Dean, his gaze locked on the road ahead of them. He didn't have to ask what Sam was referring to. "You're wrong."  
  
Lifting his head, Sam looked at him. "Is there something else about that night you haven't told me?"  
  
"No," said Dean, shifting uncomfortably.  
  
"Then it wasn't your fault," insisted Sam, unfolding his arms. If he kept saying it, maybe Dean would start to believe it.  
  
"Dude, I left you to go play in the arcade," scowled Dean. "And the Shtriga almost had you for a midnight snack."  
  
Sam considered his words carefully, but there was no way to say this without pissing off Dean. "I think Dad set us up." The moment the words were out of his mouth, he gripped the dashboard, the car skidding onto the shoulder as Dean slammed on the brakes.  
  
"Why in the hell would you even say something like that?!" shouted Dean, turning to face Sam. "I had the responsibility to protect you, and I fucked up. Just because you have this attitude about Dad, doesn't mean he's the one to blame for everything that goes wrong."  
  
"Think about it," persisted Sam, ignoring Dean's outburst. "The only reason you recognized that burned hand print was because you saw the photo Dad had, right? He knew it was in the area, yet he took off, leaving the two of us alone. Pretty careless when you consider it hunted children. He used us, Dean, to lure it out of hiding."  
  
Dean abruptly turned away and looked out the side window of the car. Sam had just voiced the very thought he had refused to accept all these years. "You don't know that."  
  
"Neither do you, but it makes sense. Why else was he right there, at the right time, to shoot it?" asked Sam, knowing how hard it was for Dean to accept the idea. He waited, letting Dean struggle with it.  
  
"Maybe," Dean grudgingly answered. "Then that makes me just like him, doesn't it?"  
  
"No," said Sam, frowning.  
  
"I used Michael," said Dean. "No difference."  
  
"You gave Michael a choice," said Sam. "He knew what was going on, we didn't."  
  
Dean made a face and shook his head.  
  
"It's bad enough if Dad did do it on purpose," pressed Sam. "But to let you believe you were to blame all these years . . . "  
  
"Doesn't matter," said Dean, sitting up and putting the car into gear and heading back down the highway.  
  
"Dean," said Sam, unwilling to let it go. "He has used this against you ever since. You never question him, or . . ."  
  
"I didn't do what I was told," cut in Dean sharply. "And it almost cost you your life. It all boils down to the fact I disobeyed him, Sam, and the repercussions aren't acceptable. That isn't a lesson I care to repeat."  
  
"We were kids," said Sam, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.  
  
"That's not an excuse, Sam," said Dean, looking over at him.  
  
"We were kids," repeated Sam, scooting across the seat. He intended to make his point crystal clear. "But we're not anymore. We're allowed to think for ourselves and do what we think is right. Regardless of what Dad, or anybody else says."  
  
Dean tilted his head slightly as Sam pressed himself closer. He shivered as Sam's breath tickled his ear and he forced his eyes open when they started to drift close.  
  
"All I'm asking is for you to stop shouldering the blame," said Sam, leaning close and nuzzling the side of Dean's neck. "The only person who has a right to be upset with you is me. And there is no blame to be laid at your feet. The score has been settled, let it go."  
  
Dean swallowed back the lump in his throat.  
  
Sam pulled away slightly. "Enough of the past controls us, we don't need this too."  
  
Switching hands on the steering wheel, Dean wrapped his right arm across Sam's shoulder and hugged him. He understood what Sam was telling him, but he couldn't suddenly change how the past molded him. He hoped Sam would understand in turn.  
  
Sam slouched down, leaning against Dean as he drove. He bent his head forward as Dean ruffled his hair.  
  
Dean extended his arm across the back of the front seat as Sam wiggled until he could use Dean's thigh as a pillow. "If you want, I can pull into the next motel we run across."  
  
"Nah, that's okay," said Sam. "I'll probably sleep better in a moving car than in a motel room tonight." After a few more adjustments, he finally found a half way comfortable position. He could have climbed over the seat and stretched out in the back, but he wanted to be as close as he could to Dean.  
  
Once Sam stilled, Dean dropped his arm off the back of the seat and rested it along Sam. Sleep was going to be a long time coming for him, his mind turning over everything that had happened in the past and how it ended now. The images of Sam being drained as a kid, and now, overlapped. The colors keen and defined to show every minor detail.  
  
Sam didn't have to see Dean's face to know he was still beating himself up over the Shtriga. He could feel the tension beneath his cheek and hand.  
  
At first, the touch was so light, Dean wasn't sure he had felt it. But the tug on the snap of his jeans dispelled any doubt. He was about to point out that it might not be such a hot idea while he was driving, but the slow ticking of his zipper being lowered silenced him. He hissed and shifted his hips forward as cool, long fingers encircled him.  
  
Smiling at his reaction, Sam eased Dean's erection free of the confines of denim and cotton. Dean's driving skills were about to be tested.  
  
Dean gasped at the contrasting sensations of dry, cool fingers and Sam's wet, hot mouth. The car drifted over the center line for a moment, before he steered it back. Tangling his right hand in Sam's soft hair, he gently guided him to take him in deeper.  
  
Sam shifted, feeling the play of muscle in Dean's thigh as he moved in time with him. Dean's fingers clenched and breathing stuttered as his hips rose from the car seat.  
  
Dean's head tilted back as he came, watching the road between slitted eyelids. He pulsed into Sam's mouth, gasping as lips and tongue continued to tease his sensitive flesh. "Sam." His voice croaked, pleading for him to stop.  
  
Slowly Sam lifted his head, reluctantly letting Dean slip free. Carefully, he tucked Dean back into his jeans.  
  
Before Dean could offer to pull over, Sam once again settled down, using his thigh for a pillow. "What about you?"  
  
"I'm good," yawned Sam, ignoring his own hard on. "Wake me when it's my turn."  
  
Dean's thoughts once again flitted over the Shtriga, but the memory wasn't as sharp as it had once been. He glanced down at Sam with a tender smile. The past couldn't be changed, but there was always hope for the future.


End file.
